


Intense

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Dark, Horror, M/M, extreme dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-05
Updated: 2005-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dream within a dream, before the nightmare comes true. A love doomed to be long lost and never voiced in the depths of the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intense

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my mother (Croisanna) and my husband Mike, without whom, none of these fics would ever see the light of day. And to my Muses – Yoof, Kats, Becky, The Zone, Dragonfly, Imagine – well... You all know who you are, and I wish to let you know what an inspiration you all are to an aspiring writer!

  
**_Title:_** Intense  
 **Author:** PhoenixDragon  
 **Category:** Slash, H/C, Angst, First Time  
 **Pairings:** Angel/Wesley  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Date:** 09/05/05  
 **Season/Episode:** Season Three - And let's just leave it at that.  
 **Spoilers:** None, really.  
 **Summary/Synopsis:** A dream within a dream, before the nightmare comes true. A love doomed to be long lost and never voiced in the depths of the dark.  
 **Notes:** Thanks as always to my mother (Croisanna) and my husband Mike, without whom, none of these fics would ever see the light of day. And to my Muses – Yoof, Kats, Becky, The Zone, Dragonfly, Imagine – well... You all know who you are, and I wish to let you know what an inspiration you all are to an aspiring writer!  
 **Warnings:** Bloodplay, Graphic Sexual Scenes and Temporary Death. I know how you guys like it!  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not, nor will I ever, own Angel and Co. That privilege is Joss Whedon's and Tim Minear's of Mutant Enemy, Fox, and WB, etc. This is sheerly for fun and no money will ever be made from these things – just playing with them for awhile – I can't promise I will return them in the same condition I found them in though, so I'll just hafta forego on that security deposit.

The lobby echoed with the silence of a hundred years.

It was black beyond his office door, the darkness a soft breath in the stitches of time. Any evils from beyond the blue-black forced to be kept at bay, by the feeble yellow-white glow of his accountant's lamp, it's rays of light touching lightly on the tomes and morass of papers scattered across his desk, before skittering along the walls, intensifying the stark green of the ancient paint, and the crackled brown-white of the wallpaper, it's curlicues a sad parade of yesteryear's fashion heyday.

But he didn't see any of that. Nor would he notice much, even if he did. He spent day after day at this desk, lost in the languages of long-dead prophecies and the doomed tongues of centuries old nay-sayers in their quest for fame or redemption – if not both at once.

But he was not doing that, now, either...

He _was_ bent over his desk – but this time, he happened to be standing – and he wasn't alone. In this familiar comfort of the darkened hotel, all either out doing errands or breathing deeply of dream-laced sleep – Wes always fretted, and worried, and worked in a solitary fugue – and tonight was, in many ways, no different.

The only difference was that he was more troubled than usual. None of it was right – none of it _could_ be right.

But that wasn't his only problem at present…

No, his other problem was that his late-night fretful meanderings amongst dusty black market books, seems to have been noticed. Unusual, and so, ultimately, the attention was quite unwelcome – because something _else_ seemed to be wrong.

His visitor cast no shadow, even as he stood behind Wes, one hand between his shoulder-blades, forcing him down amongst his papers and books, the inky lines wiggled and danced like spiders in his slanted vision, his breath gusting across the pages of the legal pad he had been working on his panting gasps, stirring the pages with a discernable swishing sound.

The only noise in the silent wells of the hotel, beyond the unheard noises emitted from the pitch black of the lobby and beyond – the only sounds permitted in the circle of muted light, was the harsh drag of Wesley's breathing, and the smacking clap of the pages before him. Even the ticking of the antique clock on the shelves behind his desk, was hushed, almost stopped – as if Time itself, held it's breath, to see what the play was about – what was in the next act of this little confusing drama.

He cast no shadow. His touch was the cold weight of stones in a rushing river, his strength barely noticed by he who welded it, as though it was of a mere consequence.

He never drew air into his lungs, his heart never beat – and of course, there was that casting of no shadow. The only question now, was the strength that of one gone mad – or the ordinary strength of a monster who moved like a wraith in the shadows of the years.

Wes prayed it was the latter.

Then -

Another sound to shatter the chilled stillness.

" Why don't you tell me, Wes? Why do you hide here, in the darkness and not tell of the worries that trouble your mind?"

The slight Irish brogue, the soft burring of the words, delivered in an almost song-song fashion. The Ex-Watcher shuddered in creeping horror, wishing for a quick and painless death, if it was the monster he thought it was.

Anything was better than to be played with like a toy, before he met his doom.

" There's…" A slight click as he tried to swallow past the dryness lodged in his throat. " There's nothing to tell…Angel."

He wished for him and not the other – not the one who haunted his nightmares and made gore-streaked horrors of his daydreams. Let it be the one who cared for him, even if it was only a token affection – not the one who only cared for the carnage of his screaming death.

" But, you don't hang out anymore, Wes. You sit here, in the dark, and read until your eyes are sore, and you look positively shattered with exhaustion – why do you do this to yourself?"

A pause, then -

" _Let me save you_ \- "

From yourself...

A hand smoothed through his hair, and Wes squeezed his eyes shut, unsure of what was happening, but only knowing that it was bound to be shocking, painful, and would lead to a messy, horrifying death.

A death he longed for, if what he had been pouring over and analyzing for the past few days was true…

Please - let it _not_ be true!

But he knew it was…

And his wish was being granted, as his heart confirmed what his mind already knew.

 **Let me save you**.

Hot, smooth blades sliced into the soft flesh of his throat, a burn of utter ecstasy and agony, as a cool, strong hand lifted him up and back, holding him against the creature who drank of him in long hungry draughts, the pull of his life-force as it slid down the vampires throat a sweet torture, his cries of pain and lust a whisper in the darkness.

A hot, smooth ribbon of agony and blood-red pleasure thrilled through him, his torso held immobile against the smooth strength of Angel's chest, wrapped in arms that kept him still and close, so intimate, so deadly.

A shiver of fingers over his cooling flesh, as a painful hardness dug into his right buttock. He instinctively knew what that was, but was unsure if it was the heat of the moment, or a long awaited confirmation – his hips rocked back against it, as his heels drummed the floor, twisting and writhing in the embrace of Death, gratified and filled with terror as the hips behind him responded, thrusting against him as he was wrestled back against his desk, his life fading, only to be consumed by the one he longed for.

His one-time friend and now would be killer, moaned into his neck, the sound humming through the collapsing channels of his veins, an electric spark that had him shuddering and jerking in the vampire's arms, his hips bucking at a brush of fingers across his cock caused his balls to draw up and almost explode from the exquisite agony of it all.

" Yes… Please…" He croaked, eyes sliding shut as his body trembled and shut down. " I can't see any further! It will - "

 _Kill me_...

But he was already dead.

Angel loped around the corner, intent on the refreshing mug of blood he had saved in the office fridge for the end of the night, sure that as he had now 'saved the day' again, he would be forgiven for digging into it a bit early. He was tired anyway, and though he didn't have the human disadvantage of age, he felt… _old_.

Well…

As old as a vampire of two hundred some-odd had any right to feel, that is.

An eerie noise arrested him in mid-stride and he slid around the corner to Wes' office to investigate (after all, that's what he did now, right?), and if his heart could beat, it would thump in fear in his chest at the keening moans that issued from that dank cell that parodied as an office, the stench of fear and anger a palpable and almost physical sensation.

He peered around the doorway and breathed a sigh of relief, as he spotted the spiky brown hair of the usual occupant , and no one else. But Wesley still sounded distressed and afraid –

A nightmare it seems…

" Yes… Please…" The sleeping man moaned, the utter despair of the haunting plea sending chills across Angel's spine. " I can't see anymore… It will - "

A broken sob, and Wes was still.

 **Too still**.

He stood, frozen in the door, unsure of what had happened, and definitely unsure of how to proceed. A minute or so passed, and still, the man's chest didn't rise again, and the thrum of his heart in Angel's ears, was slowing, slowing.

Terror flooded him as he rushed to Wesley's side, the stillness and total absence of breath causing him to practically dance in panic, his voice shrill as he called the Ex-Watcher's name.

" Wes? _Wesley_ – wake up, man!"

Was this a spell, hidden amongst the books that he was reading, a trap for the unwary? He had been so tired, so _driven_ lately – he wouldn't notice if the spell was subtle and tricky enough…

' _Please don't be dead, Wes!_ Please _… We've been through so much, you can't do this to us now._ '

He put out a hand to shake his friend's shoulder and was relieved when the man snapped to almost immediately, the sound of his lungs filling with air once more, like a hymn from the heavens to one besouled, and ever lonely vampire. Angel perched on the edge of Wesley's desk, patting his shoulder awkwardly, as he tried to come up with a tactful way to ask if his friend was alright.

Wesley raised his eyes, his blue, blue eyes to his own, and Angel was staggered by the hopeless fear and rage that dwelled deep within them. His words of query, of comfort lodged in his throat like a bone, his dead heart actually skipping slightly in his chest.

What had happened?

What happened to the man they knew, the man they loved? What happened to the young, naïve Watcher turned rogue demon-hunter, and what had put that look into his eyes? The look that welcomed death, in any form?

" Wes…" A croak.

" Please." Was all that Wes said, his eyes begging for something that Angel couldn't, wouldn't, give. " I can't…see…anymore. Help me, _Angel_. For the love of God... _Please_ \- stop me from seeing anymore."

 _No more nightmares of blood and death, no more visions of haunting betrayals and endless loneliness_.

The vampire drew in a shuddering breath, unable, and unwilling to fulfill the unspoken request. He didn't know how to comfort Wesley's obvious pain, didn't know how to heal the wound that had opened in his friend's heart.

" Wes - I can't…"

" Do something! _Please_ … Make it all fall away… If only - " A choked gasp, blue eyes shuttered, sliding closed as Wes drew away from his touch. " If only for a little while…"

Unsure of what he was doing, only knowing it was right that he do so, he pulled Wesley into his arms and rocked him, whispering that he would make it better, he would make it right, whatever was wrong, as the man shook and wept in his silent way, the hurt still unsaid, the pain still ever-growing in the heart that beat strongly against his own barren chest.

Helpless in the face of such sorrow, he declared that he could make this better – and he promised to make it all fall away, any way he knew how.

And not knowing whether he was right or wrong, he did just that, in the breathing dark of the night.

He did it the only way he knew.

The hotel was clothed in blackness.

The only movement and sound came from the light that spilled across the desk and wall of one office in shifting haphazard patterns, the glow of soft yellow a telltale barrier against the subtle monsters of the darkness, inside and out.

A hand rested imbetween his shoulder-blades, the creature behind him cast no shadow, and his heart never beat -

But his strength was warm, his body cool as it slid against him.

The only sounds were the mysterious creaks from the darkness beyond their Now, and the soft pants from the desk, as the hardness from his dream slid into him with sweet agony, parting him as physically as knowledge cleaved to his mind. It burned him with it's cold heat, so deep inside, it touched his heart.

He wept with the joy of the moment, knowing it would never last, it _couldn't_ – all too aware of how fragile this instance was, as those long, strong fingers stroked over his body, the warm graininess of the desk digging into his belly as he was held prone for the cock that invaded him in long, agonizing strokes, the soft whispers and murmurs from the vampire, as music to his bleeding and broken heart.

The broad, muscled chest pressed hesitantly against his back, and he pushed back against it, enough to denoted pleasure, not resistance, as one of those hands wrapped around his own cock, the measured rhythm of the hardness inside him translating to the grip around his shaft, the soft moans issuing from his throat rising and falling with the shift of Angel's hips against him, the claw of deep pain-pleasure that held him in it's dark embrace.

Silky wet lips glided over the nape of his neck, as the moment went on and on, making the pain fall away, but bringing a new pain with it. He had always loved this creature, this man who was centuries dead, and now it blazed from within his heart like embers of forbidden fire, this love that he harbored for him, that he could not voice.

A sting of razors at his jugular, a soft groan of apology, as Angel suckled at the spot he had nicked, the heat of ecstasy a pain that he knew, and had dreamt of so, so often.

" Yes! Oh, yes! Please… Like this, Angel, just like this…" He whispered, stifling a cry as the hips that slid and rubbed against him jerked, just once, before the rhythm picked up, becoming heated.

The vampire moaned his own pleasure into the soft warmth of his throat, as he licked the warm, salt flow of his blood, the stutter of his body frantic – slamming into him, intensifying the pain – an oh, how it felt so _good_.

" Wes… God, Wes - you taste - you _feel_ … Please, Wes - oh, God! What it is to love you…"

And in the circle of dim light, Wesley came with a cry, his semen spattering the dark and dusty relics of doom that were spread before him – but he didn't see them, as he rode on the waves of exquisite agony, heat blooming low in his belly as Angel gave him the gift of his seed, deep, _so deep_ inside. Deep enough to drive the demons temporarily away - but never deep enough to save him.

No, never deep enough for _that_ …

' _I love you…_ '

Afterwards, he was never sure which one of them said it, and he didn't have the time to know, as his destiny waited for him around the corner – and with it, the pain of betrayal -

But, for now, he could have this moment, and dream that it was his love, who loved him back, his love who said those words into the depths of the breathing dark.

A new day dawned and the lovers parted – Angel to his promised mug of blood, though he had little taste for it now, as he had drank his fill of the sweetest he had ever tasted. And Wesley to his Destiny with darkness, his shaggy head bent over the dusty tomes and books that he longed to escape forever –

But that moment in time, was enough.

For now, at least - as he rushed headlong into the terror of prophecies come true.

And from the light of dawn, hidden from the rays of the sun as it climbed toward it's rightful place in the sky, was the vampire with a soul, his senses still filled with the taste, feel and smell of his love, as he healed him the only way he knew how.

He said it again, to himself, savoring the taste of the words as they left his tongue, not knowing that it would be a long time before he was brave enough to say them again. He whispered them to the moment, the memory of the slice of time they have made theirs, and dreamed that they had been said back to him too, in the throes of their impassioned embrace, the words he longed to hear from those soft, soft lips.

' _I love you. And I always will…_ '

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my mother (Croisanna) and my husband Mike, without whom, none of these fics would ever see the light of day. And to my Muses – Yoof, Kats, Becky, The Zone, Dragonfly, Imagine – well... You all know who you are, and I wish to let you know what an inspiration you all are to an aspiring writer!


End file.
